


a rose by any other name

by shyberius



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Capulet - Freeform, Fluff, I wrote this instead of doing work, M/M, Masquerade, Masquerade Ball, Montague - Freeform, Romance, Romeo and Juliet AU, Shakespeare, Tree Bros, Treebros, dear evan hansen - Freeform, kiss, romantic, romeo and juliet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyberius/pseuds/shyberius
Summary: After what felt like forever, they pulled apart, and Connor reached out a slender hand to dislodge Evan's mask. It fell to the ground with a clatter. "You kiss by the book," he whispered.*A Romeo & Juliet AU for Evan and Connor, brought to you by yours truly.





	1. rose budding

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU loosely based on Romeo and Juliet, in which:
> 
> Connor is Romeo  
> Evan is Juliet  
> Jared is Mercutio, and  
> Heidi would much prefer Evan to marry a respectable woman.
> 
> It's the masquerade ball. Connor Montague, lovesick and rebellious, is only there to catch a glimpse of royalty. Evan Capulet, reluctant and shy, is forced to dance with a woman he doesn't want to marry. The two men - from rival houses - will inevitably meet each other. 
> 
> (No prior knowledge of Shakespeare is required.)

_"My bounty is as boundless as the sea,_

_My love is deep; the more I give to thee,_

_The more I have, for both are infinite."_

 

 

Connor wouldn't even be here if Jared hadn't peer-pressured him. He'd much rather have spent the evening breaking the law on the streets of Verona, as was his usual pastime. But, alas: here he was, standing outside the Capulet court, sporting an overly flamboyant mask and waving his invitation to the guard. "Where'd you even _get_ an invitation, anyway?" He hissed to Jared under his breath.

"They were handing them out in the town square today," said Jared, sounding pleased with himself. "Lucky I got us both one - this is the party of the year."

Connor scoffed. "I won't believe you until I've had at least four glasses of wine, Jared."

Jared pointed out a figure in the crowd. "Is that your sister? I didn't know she was coming."

Connor rolled his eyes, refusing to look in Zoe's direction. She was probably wearing one of those excessively sparkly masks, trying too hard to get noticed by some rich duke. "Make that five glasses of wine," he muttered with disdain.

The guard approved their invitations, and they passed through the set of double doors leading into the ballroom. "Don't be so..." Jared waved his hand, searching for the right word, " _melancholy_. Let down that scraggly hair of yours for once."

Connor scowled, tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear.

The ballroom was magnificent, even for Connor's standards. Not that he had much to compare it to, because he never usually got invited to these sorts of things (because his reputation was black; he'd been involved in more petty crimes than he cared to admit). A thousand candles trailed from the ceiling, lending the place a warm, flickering glow. The black and white checked floor was covered with dancing feet and swirling skirts. He became suddenly immersed in a mêlée of wistful music and drinking guests.

He surveyed the scene before him, grudgingly impressed with the Capulets' show. Despite being his enemy, they sure could throw a party, and that always counted for something.

*

The ballroom floor was a battle zone for Evan. It wasn't the music that bothered him, or the drink, or even the people - it was the fact that he was already late, and if he came in late everybody would stare at him and his hands would sweat, then he'd drop his wine glass and spill it all over his shoes and -

"Ready, my love?" His mother's voice sounded from the threshold.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, coming." Evan brushed some invisible dust off his jacket and straightened his mask one last time. The mask was blue - blue to match his eyes, and blue to match the jewels in his belt.

He took a final frantic glance at himself in the mirror before he went - the face staring back at him felt like it belonged to someone else. Some sort of prince.

"One last thing," Cynthia swept into his room in her vast, beautiful dress. She placed her hands gently on Evan's shoulders. "Remember what we said about Princess Paris?"

Evan nodded. "That I should ask her to dance," he recited, as if it were a line he'd had to learn, "to see if I want to marry her."

His mother beamed. "Well done, Evan. She's such a lovely girl, and I think she'd just be the perfect match."

 _But I have no choice,_ Evan finished off her sentence in his head. Because the reality was that he _had_ to marry her - for money, for honour, for pride.

He nodded at his mother, took an impossibly deep breath, and stepped out into the ballroom. _That's just the way it is._

*

It had been an ordinary evening for Connor - filled with making inane conversation and being grateful that he was wearing a mask - until he saw him. The noise seems to dim, and the people seemed to disappear around him until all he could see was one man.

 _Him_. He slipped silently into the room as if no one would notice. He wore an electric blue jacket and a matching mask, which set off the pale blue in his eyes. Despite the concealment of the mask, Connor would make out his expression: gentle, handsome and perpetually nervous.

"Dashing," Connor muttered involuntarily under his breath.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Asked the lady he had been speaking with - some Duchess whose name he'd long forgotten.

"Oh, I was just saying how _smashing_ this wine is," Connor covered up smoothly.

The Duchess gave him a funny look, and was whisked away by some tall man who had asked her to dance. Truth be told, Connor was relieved to be shot of her - now he could focus on his blue-eyed man.

He weaved his way through the crowd, dodging couples and smiling at anyone who acknowledged him. Blue-Eyed was just there, right in front of him, and it almost didn't seem real. Until he dipped out of Connor's sight, disappearing among the people.

Connor cursed inwardly. He refused to admit defeat yet.

There! He spotted him. Blue-Eyed was heading to the back of the room, past the drinks table, and...

He was gone again. He'd vanished behind a curtain.

Connor walked quicker, afraid that he'd lose him altogether. He approached the back of the room, glanced furtively behind him to check he wasn't being followed, and drew back the curtain.

Behind it was a small alcove, in which Blue-Eyed was standing. And looking straight at him. "Are-are you following me?" He burst out, wringing his hands together in agitation.

Connor closed the curtain behind him, wreathing them both in near darkness. He'd found Blue-Eyed, and his heart was subsequently hammering in his chest. "I'd like to lie and say no. But alas, I can't lie. I was following you."

Blue-Eyed seemed disturbed by this information. "Why?"

"Because," stated Connor, his chin held high in the dark, "I saw you from the other side of the ballroom. And you look better than every guest here put together. Times ten, sir."

To Connor's disappointment, Blue-Eyed only looked more disturbed. "Are you...are you _flirting_ with me?"

"If that's what you'd like to call my advances, then yes."

He edged as far away from Connor as he could without dislodging the curtain which hid them from the rest of the party. "You-you can't. I'm...betrothed to be married."

Connor smirked from beneath his mask. "Nice to meet you, Betrothed To Be Married. My name's Connor."

"My name is Evan," Blue-Eyed hissed, "and this isn't funny. If my mother sees you-"

"She won't." Connor gestured to the curtain, as if this fixed all of their problems.

Connor and Evan stood their ground for a short while, each staring at the other and figuring out how they should feel. In conclusion, Connor felt confident; Evan felt dizzy. Connor was pretty sure he'd examined every curve and line of Evan's body.

Eventually it was Evan who broke the silence. "Are you still flirting with me?"

As if in answer, Connor took two careful steps towards him. When Evan didn't flinch back, he reached out and cupped his cheek with his hand, feeling the smooth skin beneath his fingers. He willed his heart to slow down.

"You're-you're still flirting with me, aren't you?" Stammered Evan, putting a hand on Connor's to stop it from moving.

"You idiot," breathed Connor, drawing so close to Evan that he could feel his warm breath on his neck, "I was flirting with you from the start."

With this, he sealed the distance between them with a kiss. Instead of pulling away, Evan melted into it, forgetting everything else: his mother, the marriage, the party. All that existed was this masked stranger who was kissing him like the world was going to end.

After what felt like forever, they pulled apart, and Connor reached out a slender hand to dislodge Evan's mask. It fell to the ground with a clatter. "You kiss by the book," he whispered.

*

The night was over; Connor had parted ways with Evan, watched him dance with a Princess, and consumed copious quantities of the Capulets' finest wine. Evan's voice still reverberated in his ears; his image was branded in front of his eyes. He would never forget his blue-eyed man.

He caught Jared's eye as he was leaving, and they fell into step to exit the court. "Hey," said Connor, trying to sound nonchalant. "The man in blue. Did you see him?"

"In blue?" Jared drawled, clearly even more drunk than he was. "You mean the one who danced with Princess Paris?"

"Yes. That one."

"Oh," Jared stumbled slightly and caught himself on Connor's arm. "That's the son of Capulet. Evan Capulet, I think?"

"Oh. Right." The journeyed home in silence, Connor trying to look unaffected. But inside, his mind was reeling. Evan? The son of Capulet?

Why was it that Connor always fell in love with the wrong people?

Even if Evan wasn't betrothed to the Princess, they would still have no hope of being together. Capulets and Montagues were sworn enemies, so Evan and Connor had to be as well. But Connor couldn't bring himself to feel anything but infatuation for the man he'd kissed behind the curtain.

*

One by one, guests trickled out of the ballroom, chattering as they went and leaving behind strewn wine glasses and discarded masks. Evan stayed behind, picking up a few of the masks and setting them carefully on the side. One of them, he noticed, looked distinctly like Connor's: black and simple. A pang of excitement shot through him involuntary.

"Evan, love, there's no need to clean up," his mother approached him, looking flustered and pleased. "The servants will do that."

"Okay," Evan straightened his jacket, although nobody was looking anymore, and turned to go to his room. Then a sudden thought occurred to him, and he turned back on his heel. "Mother?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"Do you..." He held up what he thought was Connor's mask. "Do you know to whom this mask belonged?"

Heidi was silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. Her jolly disposition had evaporated in an instant.

"I mean, it's not like I care or anything," Evan blurted out. "It's just-just that I like the mask, and I was wondering where it was from and -"

"Montague." Interrupted his mother, so silently he almost couldn't make it out. "That mask belongs to Connor Montague, son of Lord Montague. You'd best stay away from him." With that, she swept out of the room, her skirts rustling in her wake.

Evan was left alone, in the vast ballroom, to contemplate this. The dark, handsome boy, who'd kissed him in the alcove: a Montague? But that couldn't be correct. Because if he _were_ a Montague, then Evan would never be able to see him again.

He sighed inwardly, admitting defeat, and trudged up to his room to go to bed. Only he knew his dreams would be in the arms of the boy with long, dark hair and a pitch black mask.

*

Connor and Jared plodded home in varying states of drunkenness: Jared was off his head drunk, whereas Connor was only tipsy. He never let his guard down, even at a party.

As Jared turned a corner, Connor hung back. "I'll catch you up, okay?" He called to his friend.

Jared gave him a vaguely suspicious look, but nodded and carried on walking. Once he was out of sight, Connor turned back around in the direction of the Capulet estate. Behind the grand house there stood a wall, which led to the orchard. In a wild act of rebellion, Connor took a running jump and leaped over the wall, landing feet-first in the orchard.

He brushed some brick dust off his shoulder, taking in his surroundings; as a petty criminal, he knew how to slip into the shadows unseen. The entire garden was filled with apple trees, their leaves shining in the moonlight. But he hadn't come here for the scenery.

He'd come for Evan.

He cast his eye over the windows of the building, searching for the light of a candle. Three windows were illuminated: one, high up, he presumed was Lady Capulet's room; one, small and squat, must be the servants' quarters; and the last one, in the middle, was...

 _Him_. Connor blinked twice, thinking he was dreaming, but there he was.

Evan was leaning out of his bedroom window as if he'd expected Connor to come back for him. He'd changed out of his dress clothes and was clad in a simple white shirt, which billowed out in the faint breeze. He gazed out into the night, clearly deep in thought.

Connor crept closer to the window. "Hey," he murmured, just loud enough for Evan to hear him. "It's me. Connor."

For an agonising second, he thought Evan had ignored him. But, alas: he heard him, and glanced around the orchard until his eyes rested on him.

Connor had expected him to at least smile, but instead he looked mortified. "What are you doing here?" Evan hissed. "You're a...you're a -"

"A Montague. I know," interrupted Connor. "And you're a Capulet."

"You talk like it doesn't matter."

"Does it?" Connor strained to look up at Evan, who was leaning out of his window as far as was safely possible.

"I...I don't know anymore." Admitted Evan. After a short, electric silence, he burst out, "Why? Why do you have to be a Montague? Why can't we just wear our names like cloaks, and take them off when it suits us?"

"A fine idea, I think," Connor agreed. "After all..." He gazed up at Evan, passion running rampant in his eyes, "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."


	2. rose with thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that the Friar could see was the imperceptible lift of Connor's lips as he smirked to himself. "I guess you could call me a charity case, as I am desperate. I need something badly."
> 
> "Oh?" Now Connor had captured the Friar's attention - he leaned against the pulpit, dipping his sleeve into the holy water by accident. "And what might that be?"
> 
> Connor drew back the hood to reveal his face. "Evan Capulet's hand in marriage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for implied domestic abuse, and a sword fight with some blood and gore.

_"These violent delights have violent ends_

_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder_

_Which, as they kiss, consume."_

 

 

Connor was used to melting into the shadows, stealing his way through dark corridors and making himself scarce. As he approached the Friar, who had been reading at the front of the church with his back turned, the Friar jumped up with a startled yelp. "Boy!" He jabbed a withered finger in Connor's chest. "You were quiet as the dead."

Connor shrugged, clearly pleased with himself. "I have my ways."

"Makes me wonder how long you've been watching me - makes me uncomfortable, it does," fussed the Friar, setting down his book - a hardback Bible - and turning to him.

But Connor didn't have any more time to gloat - he was impatient to get to the matter at hand. To prove his urgency, he clasped his hands together as if in prayer. "I have a request, Friar," he began.

"I have a feeling your request is not a..." The Friar searched for the word, " _usual_ one."

"I couldn't say," Connor pulled his hood up further, so that only his mouth was visible. "I wouldn't know what sort of requests you take."

"Oh, don't try and catch me out, boy," Connor was beginning to make the Friar nervous - it was the combination of the hood and the wordplay. "The only requests I receive are charity."

All that the Friar could see was the imperceptible lift of Connor's lips as he smirked to himself. "I guess you could call me a charity case, as I _am_ desperate. I need something badly."

"Oh?" Now Connor had captured the Friar's attention - he leaned against the pulpit, dipping his sleeve into the holy water by accident. "And what might that be?"

Connor drew back the hood to reveal his face. "Evan Capulet's hand in marriage."

*

After the masquerade ball, Evan felt what he called on top of the world. At least, he felt like nobody could bring him down, because he had a secret weapon. A secret weapon in the form of Connor Montague's brash affections.

No; nothing could quash the victorious feeling inside of him. Nothing, it seemed, except from exactly what was about to happen this morning.

The sunlight poured into Evan's room like liquid gold - he was writing letters, the stacks of paper piling up around him. He didn't look up until a servant tapped him on the shoulder, standing over him expectantly. "Lord Capulet would like to see you in his office," said the servant mildly.

Evan frowned, wondering what his father could possibly want. He followed the servant into the office, wincing at the change in decor: while his own room was plain and simple, his father's was sickeningly extravagant, the walls adorned with tapestries and icons.

Lord Capulet, reclining behind his desks, smiled languidly as Evan entered. "Good morning, son. Sit down."

This wasn't a question, it was an order, and Evan knew it. He perched himself gingerly onto a chair opposite his father.

"I have excellent news," Capulet began.

Evan's eyes wondered distractedly over his father's desk, picking out scraps of words on paper and wine stains on the surface. The 'good news' was most likely to do with money; some trading deal, some diplomatic agreement.

Capulet rubbed his hands together with joy. "I have concluded negotiations with the Paris family. You are to be married to the Princess on Thursday."

 _Breathe, Evan, breathe._ But Evan's lungs just wouldn't fill up with air - his chest wouldn't move, and his heart stayed still.

"Son?" Capulet leaned over his desk, fatherly concern shining in his eyes. "Are you quite alright? This is what you wanted, is it not?"

Evan would have said it was what he wanted, but he would have been lying to his father and to himself. In normal circumstances, he would. He'd cower in the shadow of his family, and let them decide what was best for him.

But just as he was about to nod and agree with this marriage, Connor's voice came into his head, as clear as if he were in the room with him now.

 _A Montague, I know_. Connor had said _. And you're a Capulet._

Evan had been sceptical. _You talk like it doesn't matter._

_Does it?_

Evan summoned a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with Capulet. "No." The word rang out into the silence. "Th-this..." He stammered, "this isn't what I wanted."

The silence was a tangible object now. Evan could feel it getting heavier and more dangerous by the minute, like a cloud turning into lightning. Finally, his father, spoke again, and his voice was clear as honey. "What do you mean?"

"I-I mean," Evan's throat was closing up. He just wished his father would shout at him, break something - anything but this. Anything but this terrible silence. "I don't want to marry the Princess."

Capulet rose slowly out of his seat, colour rising to his face. "After all I've done for you..." His said in a hoarse whisper. "You spoiled, insolent brat." Now he was yelling, thank God, spit flying from from his mouth and fists clenched. This was simple anger, anger Evan was used to dealing with. "All your life, I've given you what you've wanted. And now you tell me you don't want this!" He was standing now, towering over his son in full glory. "You _will_ marry Princess Paris. Who said you had a choice?"

Evan felt frozen to his seat, and it took everything in him to choke out, "I won't."

Capulet's eyes flashed. This wasn't the man he showed to the public, the smiling, jovial façade - this was the man behind closed doors, the face of someone with unmatched power. "What did you say?"

"I won't." Evan's voice, though small, filled the vacuum left by his father's anger.

Evan should have felt terror. He should have cowered, cried, apologised endlessly for defying his father. But as Lord Capulet raised his fist, Evan simply closed his eyes and conjured up the image of the boy with long, dark hair and a pitch black mask. He knew that somewhere, right now, that boy was proud of him.

And, somehow, he would see Connor again.

*

That evening, prowling the dusty, deserted backstreets of Verona, Connor was on top of the world. He'd secured the Friar's consent to marry him and Evan. All he needed to do now was to contact Evan himself, so that they could arrange a date and a time. Maybe, he thought with a hidden smile, they could run away together. Live a life in some distant land where it didn't matter that he was a Montague and Evan was a Capulet.

He was so caught up in his dreams about Blue-Eyed that he walked straight into a wall. He blinked, rubbing his head.

 _Not a wall. A person_. Connor stepped swiftly back, letting his military training rush back to him.

 _Not just a person. My arch-enemy._ Connor reached instinctively for the sword sheathed in his belt. (There were also five daggers hidden in different places on Connor's person, just in case, but he wouldn't use those unless absolutely necessary.)

Connor didn't want to speak her name - it brought bile to his throat and made him choke with disgust. "Alana Beck," he spat, the words tasting sour. No other words were needed for this encounter; only blood.

He struck out with his blade, only for it to be met with another, equally powerful blade. They wrestled in each other's grip, competing in strength and determination. It went on like this for what felt like forever, a deadly stalemate.

Connor whipped around as another voice sounded over the clash of swords. _Jared_.

"Hands off him!" Yelled Jared, circling the pair. Connor breathed a secret sigh of relief - by some fortune, his friend had come to save him. He could always rely on Jared in a street fight.

In a split second Connor was cast to the side, leaning against a wall and panting. He watched with satisfaction as Jared and Alana fought, and Jared seemed to have the upper hand.

Connor sheathed his sword, leaving his hands free to tend to his wounds. He had been left largely unscathed, save for a nasty slash across his chest. While Jared carried on the fight, he crouched down and cupped some water from the drains into his hands. He splashed it into his wound, hissing in pain.

He looked up as a familiar cry rang out. How had Connor looked down for only a second, yet the fight had turned so drastically? Now Jared was the one struggling, one arm hanging limp at his side.

Connor lunged forward to aid, but before he could intervene, Alana thrust her sword into Jared's chest.

Time hung in suspension. Nothing seemed to be moving right. Connor couldn't move his limbs, he couldn't cry out. He stood there, utterly powerless for the first time in his life, as his only friend bled out on the flagstones.

Connor's emotions worked in a specific way: in a tragedy, he never felt grief first. He never wept. The first feeling he had was pure, hot-blooded fury, and he wasn't afraid to act upon it.

He gritted his teeth. If this was a tragedy, he'd settle it on his own terms.

He leaped at his enemy, wanting nothing more than to wipe the grin off her face and knock the life out of her body. Who cared if he violated the street code? Death must be paid with death; it was only fair.

She fell backwards, as if expecting that this was her fate, that she couldn't stand in the face of Connor's strength forever. Sure enough, she laughed full in his face as he wrenched her blade from Jared's chest and used it to kill her.

Let her be killed by the same sword that she had used to kill. Let revenge be taken properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Connor's got permission to marry Evan, but of course nothing goes perfectly: Evan has been betrothed to a Princess he hates, and Connor's got himself into a deadly street fight. That's gotta have some consequences.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! This was only intended as a oneshot, but it's ended up being a lot longer than that. Stay tuned for the conclusion!


	3. rose in bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'd be happy if I married you," said Evan, his hands back in Connor's hair.
> 
> "That," Connor kissed the other cheekbone, "can be arranged."
> 
> "Don't." Evan drew back, frowning. "Don't tempt me with these things I can't have, Montague."
> 
> "Who said you can't have it? Who said I can't give you everything you want and more?"

_"Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night;_

_Give me my Romeo"_

 

 

_What do you do?_

Connor sat in his cell, silhouetted against the dusk. He was completely still - afraid of being heard by the guards, who were deciding his punishment. _What do you do when you've become a wanted murderer overnight?_

On the other side of Verona, Evan shut the door of his room, locking himself in. He didn't want to make a sound, for fear of his father beating down the door. _What do you do when you're being forced to marry_ _someone you don't want?_

_What do you do when you're powerless?_

If it hadn't been for one enterprising woman, both Connor and Evan would have stayed in their rooms, cooped up and in mourning. Maybe they'd never have seen each other again - they would have _wanted_ , wanted for the rest of their lives with no satisfaction.

That woman came in the form of Evan's servant. She had led him to Lord Capulet's office and hidden in the shadows, listening to their argument. Nobody cared that she'd heard it - she was just a servant, after all.

And then there was Connor Montague: guilty of murder, sentenced to a lifetime of exile. She'd heard of his fate in the servant's quarters, where rumour and gossip spread like wildfire.

The servant woman had cultivated a strange liking for Evan over the years - in contrast to his haughty and dismissive family, he was reserved and quietly kind. He'd pass her scraps of food when no one was looking; he'd sneak her small smiles over the heads of visitors. So, when she heard of Evan's situation - forced to marry Princess Paris, secretly in love with an exiled man - she'd wanted to help him.

The plan that she devised was simple: find Connor Montague and transport him in secret to the Capulet house. Because although she didn't have the power to stop Evan's marriage or Connor's exile, the least she could do was arrange for them to meet again. The least she would offer was one small morsel of joy in this twisted world.

You're only as powerless as you think you are.

*

It had been three days, and Evan hadn't left his room. Why? Because he simply had no reason to. The only reason to emerge into the rest of the house would be to apologise to his father, and Evan couldn't lie like that. There was no going back now.

Another reason for Evan's seclusion was that, deep down, he'd sort of given up. He'd never see Connor again, so what was the point in trying? He'd get married.

 _Married_. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Rings, cakes, wedding gowns - it was society at its worst.

When Evan had received the news of Connor's exile, he expected to be angry, shattered, to feel something. But all he felt was numb, staring at the walls in disbelief. Nothing was real.

Not until, that is, he heard a knock on his bedroom door. Evan sat up in bed, blinking. Was he just hearing things? It was far past midnight - the city had gone under into a dreamless slumber. Who would be at his door now?

Evan's heart raced as a thought occurred to him: maybe it was his father. Maybe he wasn't done with him yet, and the fact that no one else was awake to protect him sent him into a cold sweat.

The knock came again, louder this time. It was brisk and clipped, anxious not to wake up the rest of the house. Evan crossed the room, steeling himself as he opened the door.

"Oh, thank goodness you're awake," whispered the servant woman, holding a guttering candle. "I didn't want all this to be for nothing."

Evan stood stock still, nonplussed. "All...all what to be for nothing?"

The servant smiled slyly. "This." And she stepped aside to reveal another figure standing behind her.

Suddenly all the feelings Evan had suppressed in the last three days came rushing back to him like a wave. He brought a hand to his mouth involuntarily.

"Come on, I'm not _that_ ugly, am I?" Connor grinned. It was the grin from behind the curtains at the ball. It was the grin Evan had been waiting for but never believed he'd see again.

He ran into Connor's arms, breathing in his scent, storing every detail on how he felt so that he could have him forever. When Connor was gone, he wouldn't really be gone - Evan would have his grin, his smell, his _everything_ , only in his memories.

The pulled apart, disbelieving. "Hey," Connor reached out and cupped Evan's face, "don't cry. Don't cry."

Evan couldn't help it. The first wave of emotion had been from seeing Connor; the second had been from realising that their time together was short, and this was what tipped him over the edge into tears. He reached out himself and twirled a strand of Connor's hair in his fingers. "How did you get here?"

Connor gestured to the servant, nodding in respect. "This lady found my cell. Broke me out of the prison, and snuck me in here. We owe her our highest debts."

Evan clasped the servant's hand. "Thank you," he managed through tears.

She nodded, smiling, her mission complete. "It won't be long before Lord Capulet notices something is amiss. You'll have to be quick." She sank back into the shadows, waiting to take Connor back.

Evan turned to Connor again, noticing that his eyes were shining. Or was it just a trick of the candle? "I-I don't know what to say," he breathed.

Connor stepped closer. "I do." He took Evan by the back of the neck and kissed him fiercely, as if he were trying to make up for all the kisses they'd never be able to have.

Evan kissed him back, unsure what to do with his hands - he wasn't exactly experienced. But Connor guided him - he gently took Evan's hands and placed them on his own waist. As their noses bumped, they both smiled into the kiss, then began to laugh, laughing in each other's mouths, sharing breaths.

When they pulled apart, Evan was sure of it: Connor was crying too. Both their faces were wet with each other's tears; they couldn't tell each other apart. "I guess..." Evan wiped his face in his sleeve. "I guess this is goodbye."

The fight hadn't left Connor's eyes as he replied, "Not on my watch, Capulet."

Evan grinned despite himself. "You can't afford a watch."

"Not on my stolen watch, then," Connor placed a delicate kiss on Evan's cheekbone. How was it that someone convicted of murder could be so gentle? "Happy?"

"I'd be happy if I married you," said Evan, his hands back in Connor's hair.

"That," Connor kissed the other cheekbone, "can be arranged."

"Don't." Evan drew back, frowning. "Don't tempt me with these things I can't have, Montague."

"Who said you can't have it? Who said I can't give you everything you want and more?"

This was Connor through-and-through, thought Evan sullenly. Thinking that he could change the world. Thriving off ideals. Evan just wished that he was right for once.

"I know what you're thinking," said Connor, smirking. "I'm unrealistic." He imitated Evan's voice, throwing back the very words he'd said upon their meeting. "' _You can't. I'm betrothed to be married._ ' Try telling that to the Friar."

"The...Friar?"

"The Friar, Evan," Connor's eyes were bright with excitement. "I've talked to the Friar. He said he'd do it - he'd marry us. All we need is a time and a place."

It was the second time Evan brought a hand to his mouth without meaning to. "You mean..."

Connor checked himself. "Oh! Silly me. I forgot to actually ask you -"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Of course I'll marry you." This was the most decisive Evan had ever been. His voice didn't even shake; his words came out perfectly.

"Well..." This boy kept on surprising Connor. He wasn't the stuttery masked boy he'd trailed at the masquerade ball anymore: he was the brave man in the window, saying, _Why can't we just wear our names like cloaks, and take them off when it suits us?_

In other words: Why did they have to follow the rules? Why be powerless?

Evan turned to the servant, who stepped out of the shadows. "Could you help us?"

Lucky for them, the servant had already formulated a plan. Date: tomorrow. Time: one in the afternoon, when it was too hot for any of the noblemen to walk the streets. Place: the church.

She smiled. "Always."

*

Lord Capulet was rarely surprised. He had no reason to be: he was, by and large, in control of everything. He planned events, and life played out before him like it would a play or a novel. Indeed, if life was a play, he was the prolific playwrite.

Only today was he to be proved wrong.

He was reclining in his armchair, surrounded by the many luxuries of his office, when his wife entered, looking flustered and frantic. "You didn't knock," he observed, absent-mindedly stroking one of the rings on his fingers.

"What does it matter?" She was almost in tears. "Evan has run away."

Capulet rose from his chair slowly. His voice was low. "What?"

"He -" She clasped a hand to her mouth - a mannerism Evan has inherited - letting a small sob escape. "He left a letter. I never knew." Her voice increased in pitch. "I never knew any of it, I swear if I had I -"

Capulet raised a finger to silence her. He was oddly calm, as if he'd known all along. "Where is it?"

Heidi shook her head, uncomprehending.

"GET ME THE LETTER!" He exploded, banging a fist on the table. His glass of wine tipped over, dripping onto the carpet like congealed blood.

In a flurry of activity, one servant handed him a thin sheaf of paper, inscribed with Evan's familiar slanting handwriting. He read through it carefully.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_For all my life, I've tried to be eloquent. I've rehearsed my speech so that I don't say anything improper to you, so that I don't anger you. But now it doesn't matter what I say, because I will not be there to feel your anger._

_This is, in other words, goodbye._

_But don't worry. If a part of you, deep down, ever wanted your son to be happy, then you should rest easy, for I am now the happiest man in the world. I have left Verona to start a new life, in a new place. Yes: I am accompanied. Should I tell you his name, I fear that he will be hunted down and arrested, so you'll have to guess. But he makes me happy, so he should make you happy too._

_Thank you for raising me. If anything, you taught me to think for myself, and without that, I would not have married him._

_Sincerely,_

_Me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand its finished! Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to carry this on, as it was initially just intended as a oneshot. 
> 
> I gave Evan and Connor the happy ending that Romeo and Juliet deserved: they run away together and start a new life, free from parents and exile.
> 
> Please let me know what you think - I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> A new concept that I was really eager to share with you guys! Let me know what you think. There's more to come, but I'm pretty busy so please be patient!


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